The Beginnings
by bandaidofdoom
Summary: Once, they were the greatest sky squadron ever known. They stood for their beliefs, fighting for what they thought was right. This is their story.
1. Who We Are

**The Beginnings- **Who we are

A/N: This is the first time I've ever written a series with no original characters in it. I know it might be confusing, so below is a bit about my characters and their Atmos before you get started.

Atmos- This is a little different then the one featured in the show. Right now all the terras are united in theory, but many Sky Squadrons still fly under the banner of their home terra, instead of a unified Atmos. They are allies, though, and right now there is no bitter rivalries between the terras. The capitol, Atmosia, is newly founded but already a center for trade. The Atmosian Academy of Sky Knights is revered to be the best place in the galaxy to learn the hands on approach to being a sky-knight, but they skip out on many academic facets of the career.

Cyclonia- A vast country, Cyclonia has been independent for hundreds of years. Though not all citizens are "pure" Cyclonian, they stand united as a people. Those of untainted Cyclonian ancestry are not quite human, though the resemblance is so similar as to be accepted without question.. All squadrons are made up of Sky Knights; to be even a pilot or specialist a person must have studied at least two years at the Cyclonian Academy of Knighthood. There they learn both to fight and to think like a Sky Knight, though they are not as fierce in battle as those trained in Atmos. They also have one of the top Aerodynamic schools in the galaxy. Atmos and Cyclonia are allies, and several Cyclonians have found places in Atmosian Sky Squadrons.

Ruincayra- The Ruincayrans are trouble. They border Cyclonia to the south and Atmos on the west, and have been trying to eat at the territories of both for years. Cyclonia has secured it's borders as best as can be done, but Atmosia is more difficult to secure, as terras cannot all be placed under guard. Just recently the Ruincadians have made an alliance with the Murk Raiders, spurning Cyclonia to begin research on a carrier that can follow this new enemy into their home and destroy them. Atmos is teaching their pilots more advanced evasive maneuvers, and the two countries are planning to have tangent border flights along the Ruincadian border.

Blood Burn- A skill inherent to 'pure' Cyclonians that has never been truly explained, the effects include telekinesis and telepathy. The Ruincayrans have long been interested in this skill, and the Cyclonians have guarded it fiercely. Silvarioation Avaara is the first 'pure' Cyclonian to serve outside of his home nation.

Blood Rain- A branch of the Blood Burn, Blood Rain is only found in people of half-pure descent. While telepathy is a common skill, the main effect of the Blood Rain is the ability to heal. Blood Rain users are found all over Cyclonia and Atmos, usually in areas stricken by Ruincayran attacks.

Characters/Squadrons of Note

Chancellor Erick Deterson- Atmosian by birth, he is the head of the Elder Council and the one in charge of the Sky Squadrons.

Master Nocturlional Cyclonis- The 'King' of Cyclonia, he has been in power for three decades and is a wise ruler, if reluctant of war.

Storm Hawks- A squadron based out of Atmosia, they are the first to be completely multi-national. They are a new squadron, but show incredible talent in being a Sky Squadron.

The Interceptors- The most talented Atmosian squadron ever. They have completed dozens of successful missions, and are ready to patrol against the Ruincadians as soon as they are the all clear.

The Avengers- The most talented –and feared- Cyclonian squadron, led by Sky Knight Sildominarin Avaara. They are the only ones cleared to run the Ruincadian border alone, and are currently looking for a tangent squadron to work with.

Storm Hawks

Torston Windward- The young Sky Knight of the Storm Hawks, Torston graduated in the middle of his class at the Atmosian Sky Knight Academy, but he shouldn't be underestimated for it. A natural leader, his charisma and determination has pulled some of the best people of his age group to his squadron. Though criticized for choosing squad-mates of all different terras, Torston is confidant that his squadron will perform admirably against any challenge placed before them.

Silvarioation Avaara- As the carrier pilot, mechanic, engineer and first officer of the Storm Hawks, Silvarioation's position is more stressful then that of Sky Knight. The oldest of the squadron by two years, 'Silo' is a Cyclonian immigrant with an eye for the sky and a natural gift for flying. Graduating at the top of his class from the Cyclonian Academy for Aerodynamic Studies, he is arguably the best pilot Cyclonia has turned out in years. A pure Cyclonian descendant, he uses his differences to the Storm Hawks' advantages.

Gyda Miccai- There's no one better to have manning the crystals then someone raised among them, and Gyda fits the bill. The youngest child of a family of noted crystal scholars, she's ready to prove her worth outside of the laboratory. She's clever and talented, and determined to disprove the stereotype of the backwoods Blizzardian. A friend of Torston, Gyda believes in her squadron implacably, and woe betide the person who wants to express doubt about the Storm Hawks: Gyda's no pansy with weapons. A hesitant leader by nature, Gyda relies on her team mates to make the plans, and she'll follow them.

Rindolian Devonson- Don't cross this Sahaarin unless you're ready for a fight. Rindol is desert raised, and armed to the teeth at all times. Short and stocky in the manner of most Sahaarins, the weapons expert isn't afraid to take on opponents twice his size. Fiercely loyal, he holds himself accountable for his team mates' safety, and it's a task he will not fail. He and Silo are thick as thieves, and it was the Cyclonian who introduced Torston to Rindol. While it's not clear why the Sahaarin has broken tradition and joined a Sky Squadron, Rindol has proved himself a very capable fighter.

Interceptors

Tomahawk Dresden- Anyone who says that wallops are intellectually inferior to humans has never met the Sky Knight of the Interceptors. Dresden graduated from the academy with every honor avaliable, and immediately built himself a squadron for the ages. They hold the record for the most successful missions ever completed by a single squadron, and it's all thanks to their leader. Tom is a compassionate person beneath the muscle, and is the first to stand up for the discriminated. But he won't tolerate favoritism, and his team mates have all earned their place among the Interceptors.

Dieani Taskermoor- The First Officer for the Interceptors, Dieani is not someone you want to cross. A woman of particular skill with a cross bow, she is the sharp shooter extraordinaire of Atmos, and a tactician who's name is known all over. The leader of the Interceptor's day to day tasks, she is charged with keeping the Interceptors in fighting form. And she does it well. As a chef and caring soul, she makes sure that everyone is maintaining themselves, and not 'overdoing' it. Often accused of mothering too much, Dieani's tragic family history sometimes leads her to be over protective of her squadron.

Morenanella Sailloval- A Cyclonian pilot and cousin to Silo, Morena is the soft-spoken navigator of the Interceptors'. But that is no reason to doubt her. Morena has a spotless track record in the air, and is the first to agree to a challenge. While she lacks the self-confidence in social situations, Morena is a natural in the sky and loses many of her inhibitions about talking while flying. She graduated in the upper quartile of her class from Cyclonia, and she is often the first to suggest a daring plan of attack from the air. A natural beauty, Morena attracts many unwanted suitors and relies on both her cousin and Sky Knight to remain away from them.

Skiff Nebren- A sharpshooter and perpetual clown, Skiff Nebren is the comic relief member of the Interceptors—but don't underestimate him. Skiff is the first to push his ride to the limit, finding new and inventive ways to battle his enemies in the sky. All of 17, he and his sister Gull are the youngest members of the Interceptors. Skiff is fiercely protective of his 'family', and hates the idea that they are always the ones in danger. He despises Torston, thinking that the Sky Knight takes too many risks with his squadron.

Gull Nebren- As calm as her brother is wild, Gull is the medical officer of the Interceptors. She takes her Selmosian vows to heal very seriously, and her team mates feel the brunt of it. Gull is a talented doctor, and has made several daring attempts to get to wounded civilians on missions. She and Morena are the greatest of friends, and Gull hopes to modify a crystal that will emulate the healing effects of the Blood Rain.


	2. A Hesitant Start

The Beginning- A Hesitant Start

Who knew a building could be so intimidating? Though the structure was large and constructed out of pure white marble, that wasn't what made it so ominous. Perhaps it was the way it seemed to watch every person who moved nearby, taunting and daring them to approach. It had an old, haughty air to it; like a old Lord used to absolute respect. And it had earned it; over the years, only a select few had been chosen to enter its halls. And, as Torston Windward stared nervously at the vaulted roof and broad steep steps, he understood why even fewer wanted to enter. The Academy for Sky Knight Training was frightening enough in words alone, and it seemed only proper that the building be even more powerful a presence in person.

Not that the building could stop him. Torston Windward wanted to be a Sky Knight, had dreamed of being so all of his life. He'd pushed himself to excel in school, forcing his body and mind into top condition everyday so as to emulate the life style of a Sky Knight. And after years of rigorous training and hard work, he had made it. He was standing in front of the Sky Knight Academy, waiting for his guide. This was the best day of his life. He was going to make his dream a reality! No, if he could just stand still for a few more moments, some one would find him and lead him to where he was-

"Torston Windward?"

The boy spun around, facing the voice that had snapped his name. "Y..Yes m'am?"

"I am Amanda Jethron, Sky Knight and Head Mistress of the Academy. You will follow me to your new quarters." The tall thin woman turned on her heel and walked away, not bothering to see if the newest recruit was following her or not. She'd been though the process many times, and it was rare that a new one didn't follow orders; they were too nervous not to, and she noticed with a satisfied nod the hurried footsteps just behind her. Some things never changed.

Of course, Torston would have followed his guide to the end of the earth and back, if it meant becoming a Sky Knight. Lugging his travel bag, he struggled to keep up with the Headmistress's longer stride. He didn't have the normal heavy trunk used by most traveling students, and probably never would. It had taken his mother and him three years to save up enough money for him to go to the academy. He'd worked odd jobs all through secondary school, and she saved as much money as she could afford from her seamstress job. They'd barely scraped up enough for tuition and his one-way fare ticket; getting a proper traveling kit was simply out of the question. So he'd packed four of his older outfits, and the two new ones that his mother had surprised him with, into a sturdy traveling pack. Add his hygiene instruments and the few books he'd been able to purchase over the years, and Torston had brought most of his earthly possessions with him.

"These are the dormitories", Sky Knight Jethron said, leading the newest recruit through a set of smaller doors in the side of the building. "Most first year cadets have a room mate, but the one assigned to your room washed out two days ago. You'll have the room to yourself." She stopped in front of a nondescript wooden door and pulled a brass key from her pocket. "These are your quarters. You will be responsible for the cleanliness of it. Every Friday one of the instructors will inspect your rooms. If they are not cleaned to their satisfaction, you will spend the weekend with the janitorial staff learning how to clean. You will report back to your quarters every night before lights out, which is at ten, and leave with the first hour after dawn, where you will report to the dining hall for your morning meal. On Sunday there are religious services for those of the Selmosian faith, and also for the Order of the Sun. Barring punishment or extra duties assigned by your teachers, Saturday and Sunday are your free days. Lunch is at midday, and the evening meal is at sixth thirty. Tomorrow is the last free day before the beginning of semester, and one of your instructors will help you get set up." She stared down at Torston, face unreadable. "Is that understood?"

Torston looked at her blankly for a moment, still trying to process everything that had just been said to him, but he answered automatically, "Yes, Headmistress."

"Good. Then here is your key. You have one hour to unpack your gear before dinner. The bell will ring, and when it does report outside of your quarters and wait." She handed him the key and started to walk away, but then hesitated. "Cadet Windward, there is one piece of nonmandatory advice that I think you might need."

"I'm listening, m'am. I'll take any I can get."

Amanda Jethron bit back a smile. She was already fond of the little red headed cadet, for reasons that escaped her. "I have been informed by the recruiting officer in your town that you are of…a lower financial background then many other students attending the academy. You are maybe one of three hundred students who did not pay to get into the academy. You passes the exams in your secondary school, and for that I commend you. Those are not easy. But you may very well be ridiculed by those whose situation in life are better then your own. Be prepared for that, cadet."

"Yes m'am. I thought that might happen."

"So long as you are prepared. I shall see you at supper, Cadet Windward." With that, Sky Knight Jethron strode away.

"Like I didn't know that already." Torston whispered sadly, and slid the key into the door. The room was not spacious by any means, but it was clean and big enough for his means. Two beds sat against either wall, and another door in the room led to a small washroom. There was a chest of drawers/wardrobe there, and a small desk in the middle of the room. Other then that, the room was bare. Spartan, even. Very militaristic. The only thing that proved it wasn't a barracks was the lack of equipment racks, and you could see where those had used to hang.

Torston took the time to unpack his things, arranging his books on the desk and using two rocks he'd found under the outside window ledge for bookends. His few outfits were hung neatly in the wardrobe, and he organized his personal hygiene implements in the washroom. Then with time to spare, he laid down on the small bed and let his eyes close. He was mentally exhausted, and his nerves weren't doing anything to help that. The knowledge of the ridicule that would come during supper weighed heavily on him, and he longed for something nice to where. But even his newest outfits were simple affairs, homespun and not terribly colorful. Everything his mother made for him was designed for both comfort and durability, and was usually a tad too big for him, so as to be able to last a few years. He had never been displeased with such outfits before, but now he truly longed for clothes that were mass-produced and made to hide the signs of poverty. Without them, he was a target for ridicule.

Without meaning to, Torston slipped into a dreamless sleep, and was terribly startled at the loud _gonging_ of the bell. He flailed a little, forcibly rising from the bed and rubbing at his eyes. Outside he heard the masses of cadets talking and joking as they made their way to the mess hall. It was nerve-wracking, trying to get up the courage to open the door and join them, but Torston hadn't made it this far by being a coward. Smoothing down his hair and taking a settling breath, he pushed out the door and entered the crowd.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Dinner was awful. The food was amazing, and the portions were larger then Torston had ever imagined, but the talk stole the joy away from him. He was immediately a person of interest; new people to any group always were. His rough, homey clothes were no help to him, and neither was his uncertainty in navigating the mess hall. He was so obviously not welcome to any of the tables, and quietly made his way to a small table tucked into one corner of the room. It was darker there, and isolated; he'd hoped that he wouldn't be able to here any of the not-so quiet comments that were already being passed around. He was wrong. And one table, the closest to his own and full of cadets in the uniform of third year students, seemed determined to think the worst of him.

"Who is that?"

"New kid, I guess."

"Look at him! His clothes are absolutely...peasant-ish. Maybe he's one of the kitchen staff."

"No, all the staff eat in the minor dining room. He's the farm boy who passed all the secondary school tests. I heard he lived in a barn."

"I heard he had to be an indentured servant to pay for tuition."

"Look at him, sitting there in the corner like a rodent. He's probably a half-wit."

"They'll let just about anyone in the academy these days, won't they?"

"He'll fit right in with Avaara, then. A foreigner and someone as dumb as a foreigner."

Laughter followed this, and the group took to normal conversational topics. But the damage was done. The few bites of food Torston managed to choke down seemed to turn to ash in his mouth, and he couldn't raise his eyes from his plate. This was much worse then he'd ever imagined. They didn't even know him, and yet they'd already made their opinion of him. At least in his hometown they'd actually waited until you made a mistake to taunt and tease you about it. But there, everyone had been of the same economic stature; here, it wouldn't surprise him if some of these students were the younger sons of minor nobility. And they'd take every chance they had to remind him of it.

He was gone as soon as the dismissal bell rang. He knew they were watching him, no doubt waiting to follow him and discover where his room was, and so he couldn't go back to his quarters. Instead, Torston got directions from a passing servant and made his way to the Grand Library. Here he could loose himself in a book or three until 8, and then sneak back to his rooms in time to wash up and be ready for lights out. It was a perfect plan, and he quietly rejoiced in it. He found a table in the back room, and contented himself with _1,000 Tales of Atmos' Finest_, an older book filled with stories of the daring missions, great escapes and tragic falls that defined the greatest Sky Knight Squadrons in Atmos' history. After gaining the librarians permission to take the book for the night, he crept back to his rooms and rejoiced in his success. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. But deep down he knew he was quite wrong.

Dawn, Torston decided, came much to early. He was exhausted and discouraged; not a good combination early in the morning. He didn't want to rise from the bed, didn't want to face the other cadets. They obviously disliked him and facing them on a day when there were no instructors to stop them from taunting him. But he was hungry, hungry enough to brave their prejudice to go to breakfast. As for the rest of the day…well, he just hoped that he could learn his way around the academy quickly enough to avoid the other students. He learned long before that the best way to avoid trouble was to hide from it until you had an advantage over it. And that seemed like the best strategy for now.

Yawning and moving stiffly around the chill room, Torston stumbled into the washroom. The water was bitterly cold, and its bite chased the rest of sleep from his system. After searching vainly for a way to heat the water-the knob that controlled the influx of warmer temperatures was broken- the cadet showered as quickly as he could, wincing at the rough lye-covered soapstone, and cut off the water. A few minutes were devoted to forcing his brilliant red hair to lie flat-ish, scrubbing his teeth and hanging his towels to dry. He reorganized his hygiene equipment and turned the light off, wrapping one of the dry towels around his waist.

A few moments were spent wondering which outfit to where, and he finally decided on one of his newer ones. It was perhaps his most stylish outfit-if it could be described as such- and had been his going away present. Long pants ended just below his shoes and were dyed a deep, rich black. They were made of almost silky cotton, which Torston remembered was made by weaving the cotton wet, and with strands of left over silk strings in it. It was nowhere near as expensive as silk, but it was still a bit pricy. That his mother had made him clothes from it made him both wonderfully happy and a little nervous. Would she have enough money to get her through till the next job?

He hoped so, but there was more doubt in his system when he pulled out the shirt that went along with it. It was a royal blue, with black embroidery around the collar and down the sleeves. The embroidery was the language of the Order of the Sun, the characters of a time long past that flowed along the material. It fit him well, hanging down past his waist in a short tunic style. His shoes were short black boots, just farm boots with the tall tops cut off. He'd taken a pair of old ones and cut them as needed, polishing the material until it shone. They weren't terribly fashionable, but they were much better then his too small cotton shoes that had served his indoor purposes for the last few years.

At last, he was ready. There was still about ten minutes until the breakfast bell, and so Torston ducked out of his room. Ten minutes was ample time to start the exploration process and it would be much more entertaining then sitting around his room. Ducking out of his room, he locked the door behind him and struck off down the hall. The academy itself was a huge building, and Torston knew it would be easy to get lost in without a guide. So he decided to stay close to his room, and on the corridor that led to and from the mess hall. It was, so far as he could tell, the longest hall in the building. It stretched from the northeast to the south west corners, and had numerous side corridors, most containing dorm-or class rooms. A few out the larger off-leads lead to libraries, lecture halls and staff dormitories, and there was several door that led to small student courtyards. At either ends where two large door leading to the training grounds and city of Atmosia, where the Sky Council sat ready to protect all of Atmos with their wisdom. There was also countless shops there, including the coveted Sky Squadron Lane, where fifty establishments sold everything that a sky knight squadron could use.

He wandered around, locating the academic wing of the building and doing his best to memorize it's location in reference to his own quarters before turning back to look for the mess hall. It was pretty much a straight shot, and he made it there just as the breakfast bell rang. Other cadets brushed past him, some barely recognizing him. Torston was feeling a little better about his prospects for the year. If he could just keep wearing his two new outfits, and maybe find the time to made some alterations on his old ones, he would fit right in. After all, cadets could take odd jobs on their weekend free time, surely. If he were to find a part time job helping the mechanics, he would make a little –very little, knowing his schedule- spending money. He could use it to buy a few new shirts, and then….

Torston almost wished the floor would open and swallow him. He was letting these little ninnies dictate his every move. As if he couldn't stand up for himself. He would work his fingers to the bone to buy a few pieces of lack-luster material sewed in garish patterns just to make them stop ridiculing him. Hadn't his mother and all his teachers taught him from his very first year in school that he was his own person, and he should never let anyone else make his own life for him? Was he ashamded of the clothes his mother had made for him, had put all her love into? Just because they weren't fashionable didn't mean they weren't clothes. And besides, after today the academy would provide him with a uniform to wear, and he would look just the same as everyone else. Grabbing his breakfast, he walked to his table from the night before and began to eat.

"Ugh, there's the peasantry again. Why is he still here?"

"Maybe he doesn't understand Atmosain. We should find a translator for stupid."

More laughter followed that, and Torston felt his ire begin to rise. If they wanted to make fun of him, they were not going to do so without a fight.

"Maybe he'll just-"

"You know," Torston said amiably, looking up from his food to make eye contact with the person making yet another comment. "I have ears, and speak fluent Atmosain. If there is something you would like to say to me, I'm right here. Otherwise, I'd rather not be part of your morning and evening discussion."

The table was silent, and it's inhabitants suddenly found their plates very interesting. Torston looked at them for another minute or so, then finished his breakfast and took his dishes to the kitchen staff. He was walking back to his table, wondering what to do next, when a large hand settled on his shoulder. Torston spun around, have ready to dodge a blow spawned from injured pride, but found himself facing a tall, muscular man in Sky Knight uniform.

"Torston Windward, right?"

"Yes sir." This was it. He was done for. One of those cadets' father was a sky knight, and had overheard what he'd just said to them. Now the sky knight was going to kill him, and everyone would think that he was just a –

"Travis Bourden, Sky Knight and Combat teacher here. I'll be showing you the ropes today, so lets be off." He glanced at the table where Torston's would-be tormenters were sitting and glaring at him, and grinned. "Oh, you've made enemies your first day, hmm? Well, at least you shut them up for a bit."

"Well sir," Torston said as they exited the mess hall and started down the Main Corridor. "I actually waited till my second day. Thought they deserved a bit of a head start."

Bourden laughed, a booming sound that brought and answering smile to Torston's face. He liked the big sky knight; he seemed to understand Torston's dilemma and understand why he had taken the steps he had to try and fix it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad here after all.

"Alright, I'll concede you the first day. But from now one, keep a level footing with them. Spoilt brats think they deserve everything, and when they don't get it they complain. Parents bought them a place in here, and their completely green to hard work. You, on the other hand," he patted Torston on the back hard enough to stagger the boy, " passed the secondary school tests. Showed you got the strength and smarts to get in. That's the right way about it. Now," he stopped outside a large wooden door, "we show you how to improve. This is the tailors. We'll go ahead and get you a uniform now."

Inside was a flurry of activity, and Bourden spoke quickly to the man that approached him. The man nodded, scurrying into the backroom, and Sky Knight Travis turned back to Torston.

"Normally students can custom order a uniform, choosing from a very small selection of colors and getting it sized just for them." The man suddenly looked uncomfortable, almost sympathetic as he glanced down at Torston. "Your mother explained your financial situation to the head mistress, who explained it to me. The academy will provide you with a uniform and ride during your time here, and you can purchase them for a much cheaper price from here when you graduate. I know it's tough, but you and your mum did a helluva thing getting you in here. Don't let you your situation in life hold you back from it."

"Yes sir. I won't."

"Good lad. Now, there are a few more things you're going to need.."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It was well past noon when Sky Knight Bourden led Torston to their final stop. The entire day had consisted of getting what Torston would need: uniforms, training weapons, proper shoes for indoors and outdoors, rain gear and winter gear, books he would need for his studies, pens and ink, and a schedule. Now they were off to…well, Torston didn't know where exactly, but he hoped it wouldn't take very long. He was tired from walking all day, and his arms burned with the earlier burden of hauling 200 pounds of equipment across the academy to put in his rooms. He just wanted to eat dinner, take a long shower and sleep for the rest of the evening.

They stopped outside a huge building just off the main academy. It had large doors on all sides, all of the big enough for vehicles to come in and out of. From inside came the hum of power tools and the quiet murmur of people at work.

"These are the mechanics' shops. They're all part of the academy, so don't be afraid to ask them questions. You'll be assigned a student mechanic, someone who will take charge of the repairs for your ride. He or she will have other responsibilities though, so try to keep your ride in working order. You'll learn a basic understanding of how to make simple repairs as you become more familiar with your own ride, and it will help to keep the down time on your vehicle low. Now," Bourden put his hands on Torstons' shoulders and gave him a gentle push. "Go on in and talk to the Head Mechanic. He'll get you sorted out from there, and after that's done the rest of the day is yours. Good luck, Windward." And with that, Travis Bourden walked away, leaving the cadet to stare panicked after him.

"I…great, thanks." Nervously, he walked into the building. The building was a hive of activity, with dozens of overall clad workers working on rides and other machinery. Few of the spared him even a glance, and Torston's nervous increased tenfold. Finally, he worked up his nerve and asked for directions. He was pointed to one corner of the room, where a huge man stood watching the gutting of a crashed ride.

"Watch yerselves boys! I don't any of y'all getting' hurt! If them damn kids don't get their precious toys back tomorrow then they don't get it. I won't have my guys getting' themselves cut to ribbons on broken steel." The man turned to face a wide eyed Torston. "What the hell do you want, kid? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but Sky Knight Bourden sent me. I'm Torston Windward, a new cadet."

The man's face changed instantly. The gruffness left for just a moment, and a look of some surprise crossed his face. "Windward, huh? Bit short fer becoming a Sky Knight, aintchya?" The look on Torston's face had him laughing. "Sorry, kid, didn't mean anything by it. Well, let's get you set up." He steered Torston toward a quieter wing of the shop, shouting instructions over his shoulders as he went. "O.K, so yer gonna be assigned a mechanic, to take care of yer ride and such. We're not gods, so don't expect us to perform miracles, but we will try to keep your ride airborne whenever you need it to be. I'll let you work with Silot (pronounced: sigh-low), one of the younglings. He's not much older then you, but one of the best for fixing rides." The mechanic led Torston into one of the smaller work areas, where a tall boy was welding a wing onto a transformed ride. "Oi, Siloh! Y'er cadets here, lad. Get yer self over here and make known."

The boy cut off the welder and walked over lifting up his mask as he did so. When he reached them, Torston got the shock of his life. Black eyes stared at him, expressionless, while a starkly pale hand pushed ebony hair from his eyes. Though the head mechanic had said that Siloh was Torston's age, the cadet didn't believe it. The boy was easily six feet tall and thin enough ti hide in the shadiw if a clothesline. The cadet would have easily believed the younger mechanic to be seventeen or eighteen at least, but something told him that the Head Mechanic wasn't making falsehoods. The Cyclonian was, therefore, perhaps fifteen at the oldest.

Torston was vaguely aware of the Head Mechanic leaving, but he was still looking at Silot. The Cyclonian didn't look terribly welcoming, and the cadet was beginning to think that he might want to ask for a new mechanic. He'd heard things about Cyclonians, and most of them were not-

"I believe you have the advantage of me."

"Pardon?" Torston stuttered it, surprised at the voice. It was soft, almost melodic in its quality. The Cyclonian heritage was even more present here; the accent of the Shadowed Lands was rich and dark in his voice.

"You know my name-what they choose to call me, at least. I am unaware of yours."

"Oh. I'm Torston, Torston Windward. And you're Siloh? Why do they choose to call you that?"

"They feel saying my name is too much a hassle."

"What is your name?"

"Silviarotian Avaara."

"…What?"

Siloh sighed, and Torston immediately felt bad. He had alienated the first person today who seemed willing to have a civilized, unhurried conversation with him. If what Silot said was true, then the mechanics obviously didn't want to say Silviarotian. Which he understood. Yelling that name out over a crowd meant you were less likely to get the noise you wanted. Easier to shout a one or two syllable name, and make it loud.

"Sorry, it doesn't matter. So, what did he mean when he said yoy're my mechanic?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. I'll take care of your ride and weaponry, such as it will be."

Torston could have hugged the man. He had thought that he would be responsible for his own mechanical problems on top of whatever else he would have to do. It must have showed in his face, for Siloh took a small step back. The cadet pushed his emotions-gratitude, relief, curiousity- aside, and tried to smile. "So, how long have you lived in Atmos?"

"This is my fourth year here. I came on an exchange program."

"That's cool. Which school?"

"The Academy for Aerodynamic Studies."

Torston whistled quietly. Even as a farm boy out in the middle of rural Atmosia, he had heard tales of the academy. All Cyclonian pilots went there, and rumor had it that it turned out fantastic pilots every year. Occasionally an Atmosian pilot would be granted a chance to study there, and by all accounts they had come back twenty times a better flier. The academy also had a mechanical program that was reputed to be more comprehensive than any other in Atmos or Ruincayra. Someone was smiling on him, to be assigned such a mechanic to help him out. Siloh looked away, seeming embarrassed by the unspoken praise, and changed the subject.

"Do you have a ride, or will you be assigned one?"

"I…the academy…I am being assigned one." It was Torston's turn to be embarrassed, and he could feel a blush staining his cheeks. Siloh noticed.

"There is no shame in that. Come; I will help you decide on one."

As he jogged to catch up to Siloh's long stride, Torston couldn't help but think that maybe things wouldn't be as horrible as he thought. And maybe this time he wouldn't be wrong.


	3. Forging Friendships

A/N: I checked my email this morning, and when I saw that I had two reviews I about screamed. 'Twas exciting. So I am going to answer them. I'd also like to throw out one thing: excluding Atmos, Cyclonia, the Interceptors, the Storm Hawks, and minor show details, everything in this story is mine. Names of characters and backrounds of said characters belong to me. If anyone ever wants to use them, just tell me and I'll be glad to let you.

Smartkitty314- Not immediately, no. This a look back at the original Storm Hawks, and so there won't be any original characters. In the show I think they mentioned somewhere that the 'Condor' was something like 100 years old, but my time line is a little different then that. But Ace may or may not pop his head in near the end.

The Beginning- Forging Friendships

The situation didn't improve.

Torston had worked as hard as he could to get into the academy, and that had meant multiple trials both physical and academic. The classes at his school had been incredibly difficult, requiring long hours of rigorous study just to understand the subject. But here…Torston had no trouble with the classes, and actually enjoyed them. He sscored the highest on the tests, and was never unable to answer one of the instructor's answers. The teachers soon grew to love having him in class. He received dirty looks and the occasional paper wad to the back of the head from his peers, but all in all academics were not terribly important to the other cadets and so he escaped the worst punishments they could have chosen.

But then, after the first month of the academy's year, the physical aspect of their education began.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It started with a change in their routine. After breakfast, instead of reporting to their first bell of the day, all the cadets were lead outside to the training courts. Their rides stood there, each with a mechanic standing at the ready by them. A cold knot was forming in his stomach, but Torston tried to push it away as he walked over to the ride the academy had issued him. He and Siloh had chosen one that was the right size for him, but large enough that when his inevitable growth spurts hit he would still be able to ride it. The Cyclonian had overhauled the entire thing, rebuilding a decaying engine and replacing wheels and wings, but it was still obviously a piece of issued equipment. He could hear the first years snickering as they went to their own brand new rides. The older cadets were, thankfully, receiving instruction from other Sky Knights, and so he was spared their torment.

"Siloh, any idea what's going on today?" Torston kept his voice low, not wanting the instructors to know he was nervous. They preyed on the nervous.

"Flight evaluation." The mechanic's voice was equally low. "They want to see how well you already know your ride, and your control while on it. Then they'll either keep you in the first year flight class, or they'll move you to a higher level."

That was the worst news he'd had all day. Torston was beginning to hope that the ground would just reach up and swallow him. He had almost no idea how to use a ride. Siloh had tried to help him, but the mechanic had other duties besides helping his assigned cadet. When he had gotten some time to himself, the cadet had tried to learn on his own, with limited success. As the other cadets talked and joked among themselves, Torston frantically tried to remember what to do.

"Okay, start the engine and accelerate to the appropriate speed, and then pull the wing adjustments….down and-"

"Up." Siloh kept his voice low, and he spoke fast: the first year's instructors were coming toward the cadets. "Accelerate until the needle gauge passes the second blue line. You'll feel a change in the balance of it, like the front tires are lifting up. That's when you push the wing throttle up and accelerate more. The minute you are airborne, tilt the throttle stick up and gain more altitude. After that the sky knights will give you instructions."

"Mechanics, give a final over view of your cadets' rides." At the sky knights words, engines roared, coughed or spluttered to life as each mechanic quickly tested the cadet's equipment. "Cadets, mount your rides!"

Torston clambered onto his machine, silently praying to whatever deity that would listen for him not to fail this. Siloh patted his shoulder encouragingly as he stepped away from the ride, and Torston was on his own. The ride rumbled beneath him, growling in a slightly intimidating way as the cadet placed his hands on the control bars. They would fold as soon as he was airborne, being replaced with the vertical control throttle. The knot in his stomach twisting, he waited.

It wasn't long. "Cadets, get airborne!"

Around him, rides surged forward. Torston turned the accelerator on the control bars, the wheels spinning beneath him as he joined the race. The needle began to rise, passing the first blue line and approaching the second. There was the noise of scrapping metal as one of the other cadets pulled his wings too early, and then another. Torston tried to block it out, focusing only on the rise of the needle…

It was never clear to him how he did it the first time, but Torston _felt_ the change Siloh had mentioned. He was in tune with his ride, feeling the weight shift as the engine pushed past the speed needed to achieve vertical velocity. His hands didn't shake as he shoved the wing throttle up, and he suddenly felt quite at ease. The wings on either side of him punched out, and he let go of the control bar as it changed. Tilting the stick upward, he urged his ride into the sky and shot upward.

"Very good, Windward." The Sky Knight below him-Sky Knight Bourden, he realized- gave him a nod. A few other cadets managed to get airborne, but in the end only Torston and a blond haired cadet managed to stay there. "You two, I want you to climb to 50 feet, then take a gentle glide down to thirty. Wait for my instructions afterwards."

Torston and the other cadet, a Trace Abernathy, were put through their paces for the rest of the morning. The other cadets were sent to the machine shop to learn both how to fix their rides and how to operate them. Only Siloh and Trace's mechanic stayed in the courts, waiting for the practice run to be over. When the bell for the course to end finally rang, Bourden intercepted them before they left.

"You both did good today. Tomorrow you'll report to the second year courts, and will continue training with them. Go to lunch; your mechanics will take care of your rides."

The Sky Knight's praise made Torston grin, but not as much as Siloh's whispered _"Well done."_ He had done his first teacher proud.

SCENE CHANGE/TIME SKIP

The next few months saw Torston's life falling into a routine. He no longer struggled to wake up at the proper time, and at night he slept deeply and without dreams. The increased combat training- on single and twin crystal sabers favored by Sky Knights- was exhausting, and left him in the afternoons exhausted and drained during lessons. His academic studies were more difficult as the year progressed, ad required more study then ever to maintain decent marks in it. Far too often he could be found hunched over a library book trying to sort out math problems or, on the nights when he wasn't busy, working with Siloh.

The mechanic proved himself invaluable. Siloh was well versed in mathematics, history both Cyclonian and Atmosian, well read and extremely patient. He taught Torston better ways to solve problems and manage his time, as well as giving the cadet a working understanding of mechanics. Torston insisted on learning how to fix small problems on his ride, and how to work around larger ones until they were repaired. He learned to weld, melting scrap metal together until he had the hang of it. His learning helped keep Siloh's work time shorter, and the Cyclonian used the spare time to help Torston stay ahead in his studies. It wasn't long until the cadet was granted free time on the weekends, and trusted to go into the city without an escort. Life was good.

Unfortuantly, it was also very obvious. His fellow cadets went from smug to jealous, resenting the 'test-in' who was doing so much better than them. Their abuse got worse, escalating from glares to upper classmen waiting in the corridors to hit him. Torston was able to escape a few times, but before long most of the cadets were in on the 'game'. The first year learned to take his beatings silently when he had to, and use the most obscure ways around the complex to get where he needed to be. The bruises started adding up, and they made it more and more difficult for him to concentrate. His combat marks went down as he lost the energy to spar at his best, and his academics began to sag. He was far too often late for classes, and would then fall asleep half way through a lecture. His out of class work was almost an impossibility, even with Siloh trying to help him. After he'd almost set himself on fire, the Cyclonian had barred him from helping in the machine shop, sending him away with a worried look that made Torston feel guilty. He hadn't meant to worry his friend with personal problems.

But the, things stopped being personal.

The summer was finally winding down, and the smothering heat that had come with it began to abate. It became a joy to take rides up in the cooler weather, with breezes rippling over to earth. Shorter days and longer nights helped Torston, and he slowly began to recover from the damage his cadets had done. His marks went back up, and combat training ceased to be torture. He was able to get his class work done, and avoiding punishment duty let him get back to his room relatively unscathed Siloh had finally given him the okay to work in the shop again. Restored conversations with his friend improved Torston's morale considerably, and Siloh finally stopped worrying.

It was a Friday night when Torston found out why he'd stopped catching beatings in the hallway. He'd passed two of the older cadets in the machine shop, looking smug as they brushed past him. And Siloh was slumped over a ride in the back of the empty shop, arms and face a rainbow of bruises.

"Siloh!" Torston carefully lowered the older boy to the ground, shaking hands looking for a pulse. He didn't think the cadets would be stupid enough to kill a mechanic, but he was relieved none the less to find one. "Oh God, Siloh, open your eyes! Please!"

"….The hell happened?" It was the first time Torston had ever heard his friend curse. "Torston?"

"I'm not sure. I think two of the fourth years attacked you. Do you remember?"

Siloh shook his head, and winced. "Vaguely. I think they hit me from behind, one of them. I tried to stop them…and that's about all I remember."

"We should get you to the medical wing."

Siloh had a mild concussion, and was kept overnight for observation. The incident was reported, but that was't enough. They had taken things to the next level by dragging in Siloh, and Torston wasn't going to let them get away with that. Everyone had a limit, a line in the proverbial sand that shouldn't be crossed. And there was no going back after that.

He started small. Subtly making his year mates look ignorant in class, out flying the second years in their aerodynamic studies. Countless hours of extra training had him excelling at the twin sabers, and the instructors had him spar against the oldest students. He fought to beat them, shaming them before the instructors as he sought out their flaws and exploited them. Every move, every ploy was fueled by anger. Siloh had been attacked twice more, and though the Cyclonian had done a very good job of showing off the thorough combat education he'd received at his own academy it still infuriated Torston. Someone was trying to hurt Torston by targeting his friend, and that was unacceptable.

At long last, the holidays came around. The fourth years finally graduated, and everyone moved up a rank. Torston had been surprised that the 'years' were only five months, but it seemed the best way to keep track of your rank was to call it a year and be done with it. Torston went home to see his mother, surprising her with a burnished bronze bracelet and earrings that he had made. Siloh had given him the scrapped metal, and Torston had spent hours carving and polishing the pieces to perfection.

The Cyclonian also went home, returning with gifts his parents had given him. Most talked about was a crystal long bow, the Cyclonian weapon of choice. Four feet of black steel had been curved into one long bend, strung with a length of spun steel threads and with a quiver full of arrows. Each was tipped in a red crystal that glowed menacingly, and the boy had a range of seventeen hundred yards. Siloh had practiced in the training courts before the academy had officially opened, and Torston was shocked to see an arrow pierce seven inches of layered steel. The bow had been a gift from Siloh's father, and the mechanic was quite proud of it, for reasons he refused to divulge.

Another year dragged by in much the same fashion, with Torston growing more and more confident with every passing day. He still had problems with his year mates, but after the third term so many dropped out that it hardly mattered. Torston could understand why the graduation percent was so low: after the second term, cadets were drilled day and night. They were forced to spar each other in the air, learning to operate their rides and fend off enemy attacks at the same time. They were also given harder classes then ever before as instructors drilled into their heads the necessary tools to be a good sky knight. Two long, grueling years after he arrived at the academy, Torston was ready to take the Sky Knight exams. All ourth year students were given two weeks off to prepare. Torston spent the time alone, drilling with weapons and studying the materials needed. He would have one day with his instructors when the academy reopened to ask questions or get extra help, but then he would be on his own.

It was during the time between his return and the academy's reopening that Torston learned a little more about Siloh, and how both their lives would be changed. He had gone to the machine shop to seek out Siloh and see if he wanted to join the cadet for lunch, and stopped when an unfamiliar voice boomed through the back of the shop.

"And then the damn thing just stopped working! I swear, Si, one of these days I'm gonna put a few heads through a wall and see how they like being man handled." The voice was deep and low, obviously angry. Whoever it was, he had an accent almost as pronounced as Siloh's. "By the Suns, one day you'd think that they'd get it through their f***ing heads that-"

"Language, Rindol, please. There is no need to impugn my ears with expletives when you should save them for the ones that you are angry with."

"Sorry; forgot how you are 'bout that."

Torston took a few hesitant steps into Siloh's work area. The Cyclonian sat at his work bench, shoulder length hair tied back as he looked over a fractured crystal dirk. The main serrated blade was broken in two places, the steel bent from an obvious blow. Siloh was using his smallest welder, the flame barely an inch long, to fuse the pieces together. A Sahaarin, almost a head shorter then Torston's 5'11'', stood next to the bech and fumed demonstratively. He seemed to be about to speak again when he spotted Torston.

"Oi, the shop's closed. Get yer self out of here, Cadet-boy."

"I've every right to be here, you short sand cretin."

The Sahaarin snarled and moved forward. Quick as thought he had Torston kneeling, hands locked behind his head and the tip of a knife tickling the base of his skull. Strong, weapon calloused hands gripped his wrist, and the voice was like stones griding in his ear.

"Bad idea to insult me, twerp. I ought to brain you like a-"

"Rindolian, calm yourself and release him. That is Torston Windward, the cadet I am assigned to and as much my friend as you are." Siloh's voice was calm, but there was a hint of steel in it that had the Sahaarin backing off.

"Sorry, Windward. Didn't mean any harm."

"No problem." Torston brushed himself off and held out a hand. "Torston Windward, like you heard. I'm a second year cadet at the academy."

"Rindolian Deterson, a weapons master apprentice. Most call me Rindol."

"Most call you trouble," Siloh muttered, grabbing a sander and going back to work on the knife. In moments it was worn down to smoothness. "There, fixed."

"Sand's Winds, that's perfect!" Rindol happily tucked the dirk into an empty scabbard tied to his leg. "How much do I owe you?"

"You always ask me that, and I always ignore you. Why is now different?"

"Figure I ought to try. See you Si, Windward." With a casual wave, the Sahaarin ambled out.

"A unique character." Torston remarked, dropping onto an empty bench. "He's friendly enough though."

"Yes, Rindol is what you would call unique. But as I said, he is as much my friend as you are. He is studying to be a weapon's master for a Sky Knight squadron, already found a crystal expert to join with him. A Miccai, no less."

Now that, Torston thought, was impressive. The Miccai's were a family of crystal specialists on Terra Blizzard, known for their comprehensive catalogue of every crystal ever mined. But the whole clan were recluses, staying out of the spotlight themselves and letting their work speak for itself. There was no doubt in Torston's mind that a Miccai could earn a spot in any squadron, and a sky knight would probably put up with a temperamental weapon's master as well, for they were equally rare. Having two such members in one squadron would be a blessing.

"Wow. I didn't think they left their terra."

"Few have. But this one, a Gyda Miccai, is different. She's taking courses at the Atmosian Science Academy and is reputed to be as ingenious with crystals as her parents, but wants to serve Atmos actively."

Torston was about to reply when a siren went off in the shop. Both boys jumped, and whirled to watch as the massive doors in front were opened. A carrier-what was left of it- was being brought in. The engine had been gutted out, and white paint decorated the hole. Something about the spiraling pattern was familiar, but Torston couldn't place it. He'd seen it somewhere recently, but it was just….

"Murk Raiders."

Torston turned to face his friend. "What did you say?" He asked, but then realized it. The pattern of the painting was identical to those he'd seen in pictures of ships ravaged by the deep bottom fiends. But the damage was so much more then he'd ever seen by a Murk Raider attack. "When did they get crystal cannons? I thought only the Ruincayrans had-"

"They did." Siloh's voice was quiet, emotionless, as he stared at the carrier. "But five years ago the Ruincayrans and the Murk Raiders formed an alliance. Since then they've been trading research, building weapons that are beyond what Atmos or Cyclonia has. Cyclonian carriers have been modified to withstand some of the deep pressure from the Murk Raiders; Atmosian ones aren't so equipped."

The mechanics were rushing around to begin work, but Siloh managed to grab the arm of the head mechanic. "Drem, what's happened."

"They've finally done it," the older man said, eyes grim. "Ruincayra declared war on Atmos this morning, and Cyclonia's declared it against them in our aid. That carrier's one of nine that fell today. Along with everyone on it. We're down nineteen squadrons, and counting." He turned to look at Torston. "They called all the fourth year cadets back. The exams are cancelled; they need everyone at the front. We've to fight a war now. Playtime is over."


	4. Taking Wing

The Beginning- Storm Hawks Take Wing

"I don't know what else we could possibly need."

"Ya never know, eh. I been hearin' that them exams are tough as nails. Worst case scenario 'n all dat."

"Worst case scenario isn't failing, Gyda."

"Maybe not fer you, Rindol, but my name's on da line, don't'cha know. Can't be having a Miccai fail a crystal exam, eh?"

Torston Windward listened as his squadron bickered nervously, and almost smiled. Six months ago he had barely known half of his new team, and now they were his closest friends, people he would die for in a moment. They were his teammates, the people who made up a squadron, but they were also his family. They'd come together in a crisis, four people determined to help save their home-wherever it may have been- and had turned out to be so much more. Now they just had to prove that they were worthy of the responsibility of being a squadron, and the bond they themselves already recognized would be official. Looking at each of his friends in turn,, Torston did smile. He wasn't worried at all; they were going to make it.

Gyda, Torston reflected, would be the most nervous. She had left the path of her family, determined to serve Atmos outside of a laboratory. Her name had gotten her recognition, and her comprehensive knowledge had earned her respect, but the Blizzardian hadn't expected the prejudices against her race to be so severe. So many people considered Blizzardians to be little more then backwoods ignorant content to do nothing but drink their way into a stupor on a daily basis. She had fought against that idea, choosing to join a Sky Squadron where she could escape the masses and serve in the clouds with her friends. Today found her in the white shirt and khaki pants of all examinees, the brown clashing with the vibrant purple-blue of her fur and eyes. She wore a utility belt of crystals, instruments and tools, anything she might need for the next exam. Her crystal expertise was unmatched, but today Torston could feel her apprehension. It was more than saving face; she was worried about letting her friends down more.

Reaching over, the sky knight patted her shoulder. "Gyda, you're going to knock them out of the water. Don't worry about it. Besides, even if the world ends before you finish –which, by the way, is the only way you wouldn't pass- we're still the Storm Hawks."

Her smile was tremulous, but grew in strength. "Yeah, thanks fer that."

"Any words of encouragement for me, o Almighty Leader?" Rindol's voice was teasing, but the tone was warm.

"Nope. If I say anything, your ego won't let you fit through the do- I mean, 'You're the best weapon's master and there's no doubt in my mind that- OW! No hitting the Sky Knight!"

There were chuckles in all four of them as Rindol punched Torston lightly in the arm. The Sky Knight grinned, discreetly rubbing his arm as he sat back. Rindol really didn't need any encouragement, nor did he want it. The Sahaarin was the most self-confident of them all, never unsure of himself and always knowing what to do. Indeed, the whole reason they were here taking the exams that day was Rindol had prodded them all into agreeing that they could be a squadron, all the while working to make sure that he didn't hold them back. In the last two months he had been certified in seven aerial weapons, learning the best way to fight on a skimmer and memorizing the battle techniques of the more common opponents. His fierce temper had aided him in that endeavor, and Torston was proud of his friend when he's received the post of weapon's master; he was one of the first Sahaarins to do so. Unlike Gyda, the white and khaki accented his colors, making him look more robust and energetic than ever.

"Oi, Siloh, are you really just going to lay there and read Shouldn't you, like, study? How many tests you got today?"

"I have four exams today, Rindol. That is why I am studying."

And that was the reason they had made it this far. Torston knew that the only reason they were able to take the exams at all was that Siloh had chosen to stay in Atmos at the end of his four year exchange program. He had both his carrier pilot and engineer's license from his time in study at Cyclonia, and his further study in the machine shop has qualified him as a mechanic. He would take exams in all three, fulfilling the part of three members that they simply did not have. Four was the minimum number allowed in a Sky Squadron, and that had to be reviewed. If Siloh passed all his exams then the Storm Hawks would be allowed to keep it's current status. Torston knew that the Cyclonian had spent weeks studying and going over anything that might be on the exams. It was one of the reason's the Sky Knight had been hesitant to put another burden on his friend's shoulders, that of the position of First Officer. But he trusted Siloh above all, and it seemed wrong not to ask him. Besides, the pilot had assured him that he could handle it, and Torston believed him. Watching pale slender fingers turn a page, the Sky Knight had to marvel yet again at his friend's fortitude. You wouldn't know that he'd been up all night going over the wiring in skimmers, rides and carrier ships; Torston managed to convince himself that it was the colors of the exam garb that made the pilot look so washed out, not weariness.

Before Rindol could respond, three chimes pierced the air. It was the signal for them to proceed into the separate training areas, and tackle the final obstacle that stood between them and their goal: the right to serve their countries as a Sky Squadron. Before they could leave, Torston stood and beckoned them back. His face was serious, but his tone even and calm as he spoke.

"Before we go any farther, I just want to say this. You are all amazing, and it's been an honor to work with you thus far. I know we're going to be a squadron, so I don't want you to worry. Just go in there and do your best. I'll be here when you come out, and we'll go in for the team trials. Good luck." They all nodded, and Torston held out a hand. Three more laid on top of his. All were different colors, but they seemed to fit. "Then go on in. I'll be cheering for you."

\BREAK/BREAK\BREAK\BREAK/BREAK\BREAK/BREAK\

It was one thing to say not to be nervous, Torston decided, and quite another to manage the feat on your own. He paced around the waiting chamber, watching the doors his team had gone through. He would have given the world to have been able to watch, but the examiners wanted to eliminate any chance to cheat. Each member was tested by themselves, and their score displayed to their Sky Knight alone. It would be up to that person whether or not to display it to individual members. There was no question that Torston would share it, but he was glad to be able to review it first. He didn't know if Siloh, given a choice, would care to share his scores with anyone. Rindol was the same way, though Gyda was a bit more open about such things. The scores would be delivered immediately following the completion of the final exam.

And so Torston paced nervously, and tried very, very hard not to worry. Which was why a _whirring_ sound next to the door Gyda had left through startled him so much. A sheet of paper was printing from a small slot in the wall. Running over, Torston grabbed it eagerly, scanning it as he went along.

**Name: **Miccai, Gyda  
**Race:** Blizzardian  
Home Terra: Blizzardia  
**Age**: 18  
**Position: **Crystal Specialist/Tactician

**Scores:  
Crystal Analysis and Use:** 75/75  
**Tactical Analysis and Response:** 71/75

**PASS**

Torston almost whooped as he finished reading the score sheet, settling for an internal song and dance. Gyda had passed with flying colors; they were 1/3 of the way to their goal. When the Blizzardian returned to the chamber Torston smothered her in a hug, picking her up and spinning around in a circle.

"Gyda, I knew you could do it! Congratulations!"

"I passed!?" Gyda cheered, hugging Torston back. "Yeah, that's great eh! I was so nervous my bones were shakin'."

"Of course you passed. You're Gyda Miccai, crystal expert and official member of the Storm Hawks."

The two high fived, and Gyda dropped into a seat. She chattered about the exam for a moment, but then nervousness started to build in her as well. Soon both were pacing, and it wasn't Torston alone who jumped when another sheet was printed out, this time next to Rindol's door.

"What does it say, eh?"

Torston read it aloud.

"**Name:** Devonson, Rindolian  
**Race:** Human  
**Home Terra:** Sahaara  
**Age:** 18  
**Position:** Weapon's Master/Defense Coordinator'

**Scores:**  
**Weapon Identification and Use:** 120/100  
**Defense Assesment and Management:** 100/100.

**PASSED.**"

When Rindol returned, he was treated to the same joyous celebration as Gyda had been. He was equally relieved to see that he had passed, having been sure that his skills would not have been good enough. After telling his own stories about the exams, he too settled down to wait, and ended up walking the floor. An hour passed, but there was no sign of Siloh. Tension in the room mounted, so that when the long awaited scores finally printed out, Torston almost tore them in his urgency to read them. Gyda and Rindol were at his side in a moment, looking at it over his shoulders.

**Name:** Avaara, Silvarioation  
**Race: **Cyclonian  
**Home Terra:** Cyclonia  
**Age:** 20  
**Position: **First Officer/Pilot/Engineer/Mechanical Officer

**Scores:**  
**Engineer Evaluation:** 135/100  
**Mechanical Skills:** 129/100  
**Flight Evaluation:** Unprecedented  
**Emergency Management:** 75/75  
**Leadership Abilities:** 75/75  
**Self Defense:** 59/75

**PASSED**

"Unprecedented?" Torston's tone was an awed whisper. "That means he performed so well they didn't have a scale for it. I've never heard of that happening, have either of you?"

Both shook their heads. Looking over the score sheet again, Rindol frowned worriedly.

"He didn't get a perfect in defense."

" 'E only missed six points, eh." Gyda sounded affronted on her friends' behalf. " 'E's a pilot, give 'im a break."

But Rindol shook his head. "In self defense, they only take points off for injuries sustained. One point for everyone. A score that low means-"

He never finished. Siloh came back into the room, looking quite the worse for wear. There was a blossoming bruise on his left cheekbone, as well as on both arms. The knuckles on both hands were scraped, he was limping, and Torston thought it looked like he was having trouble breathing. All three of them were at his side in a moment, helping him to sit down and talking frantically over each other. It wasn't until Siloh gave them a look that was half glare, half plead for silence that they stopped. Finally, Torston took a breath.

"Siloh, what happened? You look like you went through a wall."

"I assure you, the feeling would be similar." Wincing, Siloh leaned against the wall behind him. "Please, in the future deter me from any more bouts of self defense. I believe it would hurt less to simply throw myself into the Wasteland and be done with it."

Rindol leaned over to get a closer look at the spreading bruise on the pilot's arm, and hissed in sympathy. "Jeez Siloh, who did they make you spar with?"

"He sparred, as you so delicately put it, with Tomahawk Dresden."

Everyone turned to see a young women walk into the room, her stride brisk and business-like. She had long, honey blond hair pulled into a loose horsetail, and a white jacket over her uniform Her face was soft and naturally beautiful, but now a small frown marred the features.

"That was one of the stupidest things I have ever seen, Carrier Pilot Avaara. You stood no chance against a seasoned Sky Knight, the fact that Sky Knight Dresden recognized this is the only reason you are not more severely injured." The woman-medical officer, judging by the crest on her jacket- dropped her med kit and crouched down in front of the pilot. "I'm tempted not to mend these."

"Then do not." Siloh pushed away from her, rising to his feet. "I do not need medical attention."

The woman scowled, digging in her bag. "If I have to sedate you I will-"

"Enough, Gull. I will take care of him."

Another young woman had walked into the room, and both Torston and Rindol froze. If Gull was considered beautiful, then this woman was absolutely stunning. Ebony hair fell in a half braid to the middle of her back, and her eyes were reminiscent of rubies polished to a gleam. She wore no jacket, and the purple and khaki uniform she wore only served to enhance her beauty. She was willowy and graceful, moving with a balance that brought to mind a crane moving through a lily pond. Her voice was as lyrical as Siloh's, resonant with shadow and a country different from Atmos. Indeed, if there were any doubt of the woman's race it was dispelled as she knelt before Siloh.

"" _It has been too long since I have seen you, my cousin. Come; let me tend the hurts delivered by my Sky Knight._

"" _I would greatly appreciate it, fair cousin. I have long wanted to see you. _

The language was quiet and soft; seeming to hang in the air after the words had been spoken. Torston leaned in to listen, eyes closed. It was one of the more beautiful sounds he had ever heard, the perfect sound for both Cyclonian's accents. The Sky Knight opened his eyes just in time to see the other girl pull a delicate crystal from under her uniform. The small red crystal emitted a soft glow as she touched it to Siloh's skin. In moments his bruises had faded, and the pilot was able to take deeper breaths. Looking satisfied, the girl checked his pulse quickly.

"You should be fine, Silvarioation. Though please do be a bit more careful in the future when choosing to spar against full-fledged Sky Knights."

"Excuse me." Torston finally stood up, going over to both young women. "Sorry, but, are you members of the 'Interceptors'?"

The blond woman, Gull, stepped forward; she was obviously the more forward of the two. "We are. I am Gull Nebren, medical officer for the Interceptors. And this is Morenanella Sailloval, our carrier pilot."

"A pleasure. I'm Torston Windward, Sky Knight for the Storm Hawks. That's Rindol- Rindolian Deterson-, our weapons master, and Gyda Miccai, the crystal expert. And Silve..Silvar…Silro…"

"Silvarioation."

"Right, sorry. Silvarioation Avaara, our carrier pilot and first officer."

"The pleasure is our to make your acquaintance." Morenanella's voice was quiet and polite. "I hope to see more of you in the coming times. Best of luck. Winds be with your wings, Silvarin."

"And you, Morena."

With a last smile, both women left the way they had come. All the Storm Hawks watched them go, Rindol and Torston a few seconds longer than the others. Siloh sank back down to his chair, one hand picking up his score sheet. His eyes scanned the numbers listed, and he grimaced at the last one. Obviously he had hoped to do better on that aspect of the exams. Determined not to allow any black moods on that day, Torston hastily stood up and turned to face his squad members.

"Alright, Storm Hawks. We have three hours until the team trials, which gives us exactly 180 minutes to plot our strategy. To the closest food establishment!"

12345/4321/234/321/2321/21

Their strategy, as it turned out, was virtually nonexistent. The four of them had simply gone to Val Sun Dram, the closest Cyclonian restaurant (because they had decided the person with the most points got to choose their venue), and exchanged stories about the exams. Torston was eager to hear about the experiences, and all three of his team mates were eager to share. When their food was ready they took a seat in the corner, and the talking began.

Rindol had apparently about beheaded one of the examiners who had gotten a little too close during one of his weapons demonstrations. The Sahaarin had chosen to perform a pattern dance with his longest dirk, and the display was something the Atmosian' had never witnessed. He had picked one of the more complexes moves, demonstrating both his weapon control and his own flexibility and grace, along with the endurance needed to keep that sort of exercise going. He'd also proven himself to have a comprehensive understanding of defense tactics, solving complex fictional combat situations.

"They mostly wanted to see if I could tell them what shields are best against what weapons, and how I would go about defending a carrier," Rindol explained, slurping down shrimps sautéed in a creamy lobster sauce. "I thought it would be a lot harder then that, but it wasn't very thorough. They didn't ask me a thing about defending myself while flying or anything. It was a bit of a let down."

"Yeah, well, at least your examiner didn't spend half the exam gushing over your parents." Gyda chomped her way through chicken, rice and vegetables. "You actually got to prove your own skill. He only got to ask me basic questions about crystals; he didn't even finish the exam sheet! I could know nothing about the more advanced uses of crystals, and he still would have passed me on my last name alone." She fumed over that for a moment, while the rest of her team mates were smart enough not to say anything. "But the proctor for the tactical arts was really thorough; I thought that I might have failed a couple of his questions, and he asked them so fast. Like, what would I do when faced by a Ruincadian battle carrier flying in tangent with a Murk Raider vessel, and the like. I really enjoyed it, and he seemed satisfied."

All eyes turned to Siloh. The Cyclonian barely glanced at them as he finished; it was poor manners to speak until your meal was complete, and his parents had always been strict on such things. And he may or may not have derived some sadistic pleasure from watching the others squirm. Only when he had finished every bite of his meal and laid his meal rods across the plate did he look up and address his team mates.

"I had to take the Atmosian exam for piloting, which consists of 75 multiple choice questions. They were inane. After that I had the practical flight exam, which I think went well but did not merit the score it was given. Then I had a practical engineer exam, along with the mechanical one. The emergency management exam was simply being able to list a disaster plan for…..well, a disaster. Leadership abilities was just me swearing that if it were ever needed I would perform the duties of a First Officer." He glared down at his plate. "Self defense consisted of me running around a tiny practice ring, trying not to get hit too hard by Atmos' first wallop sky knight. Had I been armed or given more space it would have ended differently."

"Sure." Rindol's voice was teasing, but there was no malice in it as he patted Siloh's shoulder. "Anyway, you're lucky. I'd kill to fight Tomahawk Dresden; the man is a genius with weaponry."

" 't kill ya to fight him, eh."

"Yeah Rindol, if he even saw you." Torston leaned over to pat the shorter Sahaarin's head. "But don't worry, you'll grow-Hey! I thought we covered the rules about not hitting the Sky Knight!"

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Their 'team trial' was the biggest let down of all. They were led into the council chamber, where both the council-headed by Erick Deterson- and several sky squadrons watched. They stood in a line before the council booth, waiting as a scribe copied down necessary information, then nodded to Deterson. The older man rose, addressing the young people before him in formal, dignified tones.

"Storm Hawks, you come before us holding success in the tests we laid before you. In all challenges you have excelled, and for that you are to be commended. I hereby name you an official squadron of Atmos, charged with the sworn duty of protecting both your country and its allies. To conclude your innitation, please state your name, home terra, and rank for the registry."

"Torston Windward, Terra Atmos. Sky Knight and Leader."

"Silvarioation Avaara, Cyclonia. First Officer, Mechanic, Engineer and Carrier Pilot."

"Gyda Miccai, Terra Blizzardia. Crystal Specialist and Tactician."

"Rindolian Devonson, Terra Sahaara. Weapons Master and Defense Specialist."

"My congratulations, Sky Knights." Councilman Deterson's voice was warm now. "We thank you for your service. Dismissed, squadron of Atmos."


	5. Rising Above

The Beginnings – Building Up

Their celebration over the success of their acceptance was short lived. Torston had suggested that they walk down to Squadron Row, to look around and get a feel for what sort of equipment they wanted. The entire way there the four of them laughed, joked, and made outrageous plans for the future. Even Siloh was in high spirits, meeting Rindol barb for teasing barb. Gyda was happily listing all the crystals a new squadron could need, while Torston was envisioning the new skimmer-not a ride anymore- that he could call his own. They stepped onto the bustling store, eyes wide.

And the sound of their dreams shattering was audible.

Everything was expensive, almost beyond belief. The first store they walked in was strictly skimmers, and the prices left Torston reeling. He had almost no money, only what he'd managed to save up during the months at the academy. He had perhaps 400 barter crystals, barely an eight of what the most basic ride was priced at. And for a skimmer….he would have to work for years just to afford one! Gyda was equally stunned by the price of intermediate level crystals, and Siloh was looking in well concealed shock at the astronomical price of carriers. Even uniforms ran at about 100 B.C's a pop, and that was before you added the symbol of your squadron.

Reeling from sticker shock, the four barely managed to walk back to the squadron barracks, where they had been assigned rooms. Collapsing into seats around Torston's, the squadron sat silent for a long moment. That was a huge slap in the face for them; the prices of the equipment vital for a squadron had set their dreams back indefinitely. None of them could afford a craft right now. Skimmers were expensive enough, but Siloh had no idea how he was going to get the 30,000 B.C they wanted for a decent sized carrier. Even with the exchange rate between Barter Crystals and Cyclonian Liri favoring the Cyclonians, he didn't have more than 4,000 B.C's saved up. And not being able to perform missions to get the money needed made their predicament a vicious cycle.

"Torston, what're we gonna do, eh?" Gyda's voice was quiet. "I don't got that much money sittin' around, and my parents said they wouldn't help me financially, 'cause I left."

"I don't have that much ready either." Rindol murmered. "Sahaara's dirt poor; my parents can't help me at all even if they wanted me to."

"My mom used her savings to send me to the academy." Torston whispered. "I don't know what we should do."

"My parents might be able to help, but I am not sure." Siloh spoke frankly, his usual calm in hiding. "And even if they could do so, there is so much being asked!"

Silence reigned again, and this time it was not broken. One by one they slipped to their own rooms, each with their own thoughts, fears and hopes for what was going to happen. Torston stayed where he was, exhausted and discouraged. No matter what they could have said to him, no matter how they felt, he knew he had let them down. He was their Sky Knight; it was his responsibility to see them through the rough patches. Instead, they were without equipment, or the finances to attain such things. But he couldn't do anything about it. His family- consisting only of himself and his mother- had no finances at all, and Rindol seemed to be the same way. Gyda was despised for leaving her plotted lifestyle, and Siloh seemed to have some means but not nearly enough. And without skimmers or a carrier to perform missions, they couldn't even make money on missions. Exhausted and disillusioned, he went to bed. But sleep was not forthcoming.

And he wasn't the only one awake.

In his room, laboring under the dim glow of a dying flash crystal, Siloh sketched on trace paper with a thin, charcoal pencil. It was how he dealt with pressure, how he coped with horrible news or distressing events. He would sit for hours and design…things. Skimmers, weapons, even carriers; anything to take him away from the real issue. But where there was rarely a purpose in his mind, this night was different. In his mind's eyes were his team mates, their needs and styles, individual builds and personalities. And as he drew, eyes half closed in something close to a trance, those visions came to life

The first plans were for a heliscooter, the newest design of ride meant for speedy flight and never to see combat. As a ride it was fast, with slender lines and a small-but powerful- engine. A back container was lined in lead, to stop any radiation from leaking out. From the pale paper came a dark shape, graceful and lean and made for speed. It would be a research vehicle, one that could go anywhere. But it wasn't made for combat. It was light and fast, capable of transporting notes or equipment fast and far. It was a vehicle for Gyda, made for a crystal expert. He blurred the harsher lines, regardless of the shadows left on his fingers, before setting it aside. That was finished, and he would think no more on it until his project was done. Taking more paper in hand, he started anew.

This time he started low, building from the wheels up. A frame that was strong, well braced to bear a great weight. The wings bore harnesses, ones that could carry weapons to be dropped or fired. It would be fast, yes, but with a strong crystal-powered engine that allowed the rider to roar at an opponent and knock them out of the sky. The nose was extra-blunt for just that purpose, and the seat had steel curves around it, to shield the rider. He colored the extra shielded sides, showing their width, before adding a few final touches. In his mind he could see Rindol operating the machine, fighting his enemies and proving his skill. When it was finally finished, he laid it next to Gyda's, and took out one final paper.

This would be the most important, the most seen. Siloh bent over his work, every fiber in his body alert. Something drove him to make this, to complete it. He drew slowly, every line determined. Plans for a skimmer-double winged, capable of intense dives and extraordinary power- became to appear. He never lost his concentration, and out of the darkness came plans for a tool that was beyond compare. He gave it strength, and yet a grace that would appeal to its rider. Powerful wheels made it ideal for land or air. The seat was built for balance, so that the rider could tuck himself down against it for maximum speed and minimum air resistance. Navigation, maneuverability, and practicality all came into hand, and Siloh bore them all down on the paper. The mindnight hour had just struck when he had finished. The same energy that drove him to finish possessed him now, and he slowly left the room.

In every mechanics shop, there is a place for junked parts. Broken, rusted, or simply old, the heaps of metal were often piled together to be used as different things, and Siloh had every intention of

using them now. Sliding into the room, he locked the door and sat. IN his mind, he focused on all the parts he would need for his creations. Wheels, frames, and engines, nuts and bolts. He pictured them in his mind, imaging them piled at his sides, awaiting his orders. His breathing slowed, heart rate dropping as he settled into a deeper trance then ever had conquered him before. When all was still, and the currents of the night were beginning to change around him, he dropped.

Inside himself, just as lay inside the soul of every true Shadowed Son-the pure Cyclonians- was a fountain of red light. It was called _Sel Ta Umari,_ the Blood Burn. With it, he could control the world around him, chaning things to match his bidding. And now he let that strength wash over him, filling the room with it's calling. From around the great warehouse came metal, borne silently through the air on ribbons of light. They settled quietly around him, organized into the piles. When all was still again, he opened his eyes and set to work.

LATER IN THE MORNING

It was dawn when Torsotn forced himself up out of bed. His night had been awful, full of nightmares and little sleep. He was considering asking if Rindol wanted to spend the morning sparring when soft footsteps in the hallway caught his attention. Going slowly to the door, he opened it a crack.

"Siloh? You look a mess!" The pilot was pale with exhaustion, and seemed to be in a little pain, if the careful way he moved proved anything. "What happened?"

"Built skimmers. They are in our bay." His voice was a low rasp. "You can run missions in them."

The next minute he was alone, watching in exhausted interest as Torston sprinted away.

A/N: I HATE THIS CHAPTER. It's awful, and I just ended up finishing it badly so I could move to the next. I am sorry, but this one had be struggling under writers block, and I just couldn't do anything with it.


	6. Home in the Sky

The Beginning- A Home in the Sky

"Siloh, these are…I mean…." For the fifth time that day, Torston Windward silently shook his head. He couldn't bring all the thoughts together to give voice to what he wanted to say--there weren't enough words in his language with which to say it. The Cyclonian had single-handedly given them a place to start, a way to be a squadron in the air. Now he, Gyda and Rindol could run missions, and in time they would have enough saved up to buy everything they needed, including a carrier. It was perfect. "Thanks."

"Mmmhhhm." Siloh did not bother to lift his head from where it was pillowed on slender arms. His voice had the muzzy quality of someone who was only half awake, and headed for sleep. Normally someone sitting in a chair and resting on a table would find the position uncomfortable--it would be a miracle if the Cyclonian even noticed.

Torston bit back a chuckle, and was about to suggest that the older boy go back to bed when the door to the little common area opened. Gyda came in-well, rushed in, really- and threw her arms around the dosing pilot, pulling him against her in a exuberant hug.

"Siloh, it's perfect, don't'cha know! I don't know how ya did it, but it's brilliant! Like it's already tuned te me! Howdja know?"

Before he could answer, or pry himself away from any more physical displays of emotion, Rindol ran in. His tan skin held the flush of excitement and welcome surprise, and he too grabbed Siloh in a hug.

"By the Suns, Si, you're a genius! Don't know how you built all of those things in one night, but…

Damn!" He squeezed the taller boy tight around the middle, eliciting a gasp as all the air was forcibly sent from Siloh's lungs, and let him go.

"You are all welcome." Siloh's voice was tired, and very, _very_ firm. "The next person who touches me will suffer greatly for their foolishness."

This brought laughs all around, though with their friend and not at him, and Torston thought better of his intention to hug Siloh, or -better- drag him into a group hug. They were talking animatedly about breakfast and then trying their new skimmers when the common room opened once more, and conversation halted. Morenanella Sailloval stood in the doorway, face a calm mask. Only her eyes, a snapping dark red, betrayed the anger that burned in her. And beside her stood the only Wallop to ever earn the title of Sky Knight, and form his own squadron: Tomahawk Dresden.

Terra Wallop had always been considered a savage, backwards nation. It's inhabitants were thought to be inferior to other terrains, in both sense and situation. They cold not reason, it was said, and barely understood the common tongue spoken on other terras. In fact, that only ting Wallops were good for was hard labour in mines, and heavy lifting everywhere else.

Dresden changed all that. He tested into the Atmosian Sky Knight Academy, and fought racial prejudice and discrimination to graduate at the top of his class. Almost immediately he began surrounding himself with the best people he could find, regardless of their race or creed. On his squadron he had a Sahaarin half breed, two Atmosian twins, and a Cyclonian pilot. All were the best in their fields, and helped make 'The Interceptors' one of Atmos' greatest squadrons. And, as Siloh could attest, Tomahawk hit really hard.

"Mornin'." The wallop shifted uncomfortably, obviously a little unnerved by the waves of killing intent coming off the pilot at his side.

Torston stood, also a little nervous; being torn apart was not on his agenda. "And to you How can we be of assistance." "Morena here wanted to talk to her cousin, and she needed an escort. And I wanted to make sure you were alright from yesterday, Avaara." "I am well. Many thanks, Sky Knight Dresden." "Tom, please. Wallops don't hold well to titles." "If pleasantries are complete?" Morena's voice was cold, but furious. Her eyes burned twin holes into Siloh, who was ignoring her for resting his head on the table again. "Yeah, Morena, we're done." "Good."

The Cyclonian strode forward then, one hand wrapping itself in Siloh's long hair. Ignoring his protests, she dragged him into the hallway and slammed the door behind her. It didn't help muffle the sounds of her voice, almost screaming in her native tongue. Siloh's quieter, calmer voice was a murmer, and drowned out both times he tried to speak. Tomahawk, who had never heard his pilot quite this angry, stared at the door. The Storm Hawks did the same, and Torston was beginning to fear that they were going to have to find a new pilot when the voices finally stopped. The door opened again, revealing a calmer Morena and a now wide awake Siloh.

"Um….Morena." Tom's voice was cautious. "Was there something you wanted to discuss with the class?"

"Not particularly." With that, she walked calmy from the room, leaving Tom to vent a small sigh that sounded remarkably like '_Women'_ and follow after her.

They stood in silence for a moment, before Gyda's quiet voice broke in. "Um…Siloh? What she want, eh?"

The Cyclonian only shook his head. "You truly don't want to know."

LOOK AT ME I'M A BREAK IN THE SCENE!!!!

Their first mission was a simple one. They were to escort a merchant carrier from Terra Atmos to Terra Rex, a day's journey at the most. As the trade routes between the two terras was firmly in Atmosian territory, there was no danger. Hence the sending of a green squadron. It was exactly what Torston wanted his team to begin with, to begin learning missions on. Simple things that were the building blocks of greater things. Only through learning everything in the field could they hope to one day run successful complex missions of their own. Indeed, there was only one problem with the mission.

It didn't include Siloh.

Torston had read the mission description, and the names that came with it. The Cyclonian was not listed as an active participant in that particular venture. The Sky Knight knew that it hurt his friend, to be left behind on the first mission of the Sky Knights. There would never be another, and this was a ground breaking moment for them. Torston, Gyda and Rindol tried not to mention it overmuch around the Cyclonian, and Siloh never said a word about it as the day approached. He would have given the world to have gone with them, but knew that it would only hurt his friends if he voiced such an opinion. So he merely gave them a calm farewell, and watched until they could no longer be seen.

And then he fled to the machine shop, heart in his throat as he tried to put the idea of missions and squadrons out of his mind. Cyclonians might not have been emotionally overt people, but they felt very deeply. Emotions ran wild in Siloh's fey blood, fueled by the _Sel Ta Umari _and compounded by his own reticence. That was one downside to not being human: he dared not let his emotions run free around the other Storm Hawks. They wouldn't understand him; they barely did now.

It had been that difference that had sent Morena pelting to his door that day. She had gone to the spare room, and had been able to feel the after effects of his power there. IN truth, he had probably expended too much energy in his building venture, and she had forcibly reminded him of it. Her words had been fueled by fury and fear-- his cousin had not known if Siloh would even be alive when she got to his rooms. As she'd said, there was a reason it was called the Blood Burn.

But here, in the silence of steel and metal and logic, he was safe. Things did not plague him overmuch here, and he could focus in peace. And what he wanted more then anything, the heart of his concentration, was a carrier. He had always wanted one, and now he was without wings. His comrades flew, and he lingered. That was how it should be, and he wanted them to have the freedom of the skies. But it was time now for him to begin his own sojourn upward, and that meant a carrier.

"Avaara! It's been awhile." That was Drem, his mechanic comrade of old. "How you been."

"Well enough." Siloh watched his friend a moment, an idea forming in his head. "Drem, a question I put to you."

"Shoot."

"What ever happened to the carrier that was brought in, the one attacked by Murk Raiders?"

"Got sent to be with the other downd carrier, in the Brighton Yard. Why?"

But Siloh was standing up, excitement coursing through him. "Has anyone a claim to it?" "No, the squadron was all killed. Siloh, what are you driving at?"

"Most Murk Raiders tear out carriers, gut them. They didn't have time with this one, which means that it only has a giant whole in it. If I can get the carrier, and fix it, I can fly it. And we'll have a carrier."

All mechanics enjoy challenges, and the idea of overhauling a whole carrier had Drem's blood up. "I'll help you. I still work here, which means I can requisition one of the carrier hubs to work on it. They won't ask for more than 1000 B.C's for a junked carrier."

"I will go get it, and start on it at once!"

LOOK AT ME! I'm ANOTHER BREAK IN A SCENE! FEAR MY REPEATEDNESS!

Torston was…well, shocked was a good word. He wasn't sure about buying a carrier that had been half destroyed by Murk Raiders, but Siloh talked him into seeing reason. It was a cheap carrier, and one that was essentially fine. There was some structural damage, yes, but the engine was sound. Working together, he explained, he and Drem would have the carrier working before months end, which was much faster then they could earn 30,000 B.C's. And if it didn't work, it had cost them nothing.

And it was a good bet. Three weeks later, Siloh put the finishing touches on their carrier. It wasn't the best in the fleet by a long shot, but it was reliable, and strong, and fast enough for their purposes. They kept the original name, 'Follow Through', and set to work making the inside livable. They bought three second hand couches for the common area, and cots for the rooms. Rindol found a refrigerator that worked, and they filled it. Then, as squadron whole and complete, they registered for patrol duty.

It was time for them to fly as one. Enemies be damned.


End file.
